


Won't Make Demands

by celli



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: 2008 United States Presidential Election, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Iowa, M/M, Woke Up Married, pining for someone you're already sleeping with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: Jon Favreau and Tommy Vietor wake up married in Iowa while working on the 2008 Presidential primary campaign.
Relationships: Jon Favreau & Jon Lovett, Jon Favreau/Tommy Vietor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Won't Make Demands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LilyRosePotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyRosePotter/gifts).

> Thank you to my betas and to the many people who encouraged me through various portions of this!
> 
> Things I took liberties with, in no real order: the timing of same-sex marriage in Iowa (the state Supreme Court case was decided in 2009 not 2007); campaign life in general; the day-to-day Iowa campaign dates and locations in 2007; the realities of texting in 2007.

_Iowa, 2007_

Jon was going to blame the Senator, really.

Well, the tequila and the Senator.

It went like this:

“Oh God,” Jon said, fighting his way out from under the covers.

“Oh, God,” Tommy echoed, from... why was Tommy on the floor? Of his own apartment? This was very confusing.

The headache, however? Not confusing in the slightest. “How much tequila did we have last night?” Jon asked faintly.

“Enough. And by enough, I mean enough for the rest of my fucking life.”

There was a long silence, and then Tommy spoke again, his voice substantially higher than before. “Favs?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there a reason I’m wearing a wedding ring?”

“I don’t know,” Jon said. “Maybe the same reason I am?”

“Oh, fucking fuck,” Tommy said.

“Okay,” Jon said. “Okay. This can’t. Okay. I need, shut up head, I need to think.” He crawled out of bed and groped for the Advil in the nightstand. He swallowed two pills dry and tossed the bottle to Tommy. “This can’t be happening, right? We’re in Iowa, not Vegas.”

“Yeah, there’s gotta be some sort of waiting period after getting a wedding license,” Tommy said. “And I would definitely remember getting a…” There was a crinkle of paper. “... uh.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Tommy unfolded the piece of paper and passed it to Jon. It was in fact a wedding license for Jonathan Edward Favreau and Thomas Frederick Vietor IV, dated… three days ago?

“We were at the speech in Cedar Rapids three days ago,” Jon said.

“Okay, we need a plan,” Tommy said in his Press Voice. “First of all, give me your ring.” Startled, Jon pulled it off his finger and handed it over; Tommy yanked his off and shoved both in his pocket. “Second, we figure out who performed the ceremony and get some answers. Third, we annul the shit out of this.”

“Right. Right.” Jon’s head was still pounding. He squinted at the certificate. “Who do we know with terrible handwriting?”

* * *

Turned out they needed to kill Kevin, one of the Des Moines field directors.

“You were really insistent,” he said. "And I have a friend in the Cedar Rapids courthouse, so...?”

“So he secretly backdated and filed a marriage certificate?” Jon said through the hand covering his face.

A voice came from behind them. “You were mad you’d be back in Chicago before the waiting period,” Dan said, stepping into Jon’s cube. “Did you have wedding amnesia or what?”

Tommy groaned. “We were blackout drunk, Pfeiffer.”

Dan just stared at him. “I... you what?”

“Drunk, drunk, drunk.” Tommy shook his head, then winced. “Hung over, hung over, hung over.”

“You in no way appeared drunk last night,” Kevin insisted. “A few drinks in, sure, but…”

“Finish a sentence, Kevin,” Jon snapped, then said, “Sorry, sorry.”

“If I’d thought you were drunk, I wouldn’t have performed the ceremony,” Dan said. He considered. “I mean, if I was completely sober, I might not have myself, so take that for what it’s worth. But I can’t be held responsible for your post-nuptial celebration, boys.”

“_You_married us?” Jon and Tommy shouted in unison. Heads popped up and around corners.

“Technically you married each other,” Dan said, clearly fighting not to laugh. “I didn’t even know you were together, but there you were, insisting otherwise.”

Jon took a breath to start shouting again.

“Wait, who got married?”

Jon fought the urge to scream and dropped his hands to his side. “Good morning, Senator.”

And with that, the plan collapsed.

* * *

The office - to a person - was thrilled. Nobody made a hostile comment, nobody even joked about it wrong. Either this was the most progressive campaign on the planet or when the next President of the United States gave his wholehearted approval to your same-sex marriage, everyone fell in line. Jon felt like he and Tommy were showing the least amount of enthusiasm in the room about it, honestly. 

Somewhere between the flood of congratulations and plans for a celebratory pizza lunch - it was still a working campaign, after all - the Senator asked casually, “So, no rings?”

“You had them yesterday,” Dan said, confused.

Tommy stiffened like a board next to Jon. Jon put a hand on his arm and said, trying for casual, “We weren’t sure if we should, on the campaign, you know…”

The Senator got That Look on his face, and Jon sighed internally. “Wear the rings,” Obama said.

Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled them out. Jon went to pick his up, but he did it with his left hand. Tommy must have misunderstood the gesture, because he grabbed Jon’s hand and slid his ring on.

“Oh. Uh, thanks,” Jon said. Someone in the back of the room laughed. Someone else shushed them.

Jon took the other ring and slid it onto Tommy’s ring finger. He looked up at Tommy and something about the look on his face made him swallow hard. 

“Great!” the Senator said. “All right, Jon, if I could see you for the rewrites when you have a moment?”

Jon realized he was still holding Tommy’s hand and let go. “Yeah, of course,” he said.

* * *

Jon powered down his laptop, shrugged on his backpack, and made his way out of the makeshift office he shared with Dan to the larger bullpen. There was a buzz of conversation from the phone bank area to one side, and a lot of empty desks belonging to field organizers who were out doorknocking. He could see Tommy’s head above the wall of his cube.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the outside wall.

“Oh, hey, Jon,” Tommy said casually, his back still to Jon. Then it was like he remembered all at once, because his spine went board-straight and he snapped his head around.

Jon tried to keep his smile casual. “How long till you’re done?”

“Maybe half an hour,” Tommy said. Jon gave him a pointed look. “Okay, more like an hour. Um, do you want to, or should I--”

“I’ll just - I’ll phone bank until you’re done,” Jon said. “I don’t mind.”

Tommy was silent for a long moment. “Okay,” he said.

Jon’s biggest problem as a phone banker was spending too much time talking to people, and tonight was no different. An hour in and he’d had about five calls; the person next to him, who’d had twelve in the same time period, was clearly trying not to laugh at him, but Jon couldn’t help but get into it with people. He was making an impassioned defense of the Senator’s education policy when he felt a hand on his shoulder; he looked up and Tommy was smirking down at him. “Um, can I send someone around to talk to you about it a bit more?” he asked. “This weekend? ... That would be great, ma’am, thank you so much!”

“You are so bad at this,” Tommy said.

“I got a meeting,” Jon said. “Leave me alone.”

“Come on,” Tommy said. Jon got up, noting the curious glances of the volunteer and a couple of nearby staffers, and self-consciously took Tommy’s hand. Tommy froze for a moment and then wrapped his hand around Jon’s.

They walked out into the fall air. “So--” Jon started.

“The car,” Tommy said through gritted teeth.

Jon cut himself off and stayed quiet, even after they’d gotten into Tommy’s car and pulled away from the curb. He stayed quiet through the ride to Tommy’s place, the walk up the stairs, and the walk past the living room and the (fortunately closed) door to Tommy’s roommate’s room.

His bags had been moved from the pull-out in the living room to Tommy’s still unmade bed, with a note on top. _Congrats, guys! I owe you drinks!_ it read in Lena’s handwriting. Of course: she was one of the field organizers and would have heard along with everyone else. Any thoughts Jon had retained of sleeping on the pull-out like always and pretending this wasn’t happening tonight vanished.

“So,” he said quietly, turning to face Tommy, “looks like we need a new plan.”

Tommy scrubbed both hands over his face. “I can’t think.”

“Well, the old plan died a horrible death as soon as Obama came around that corner,” Jon said.

“I _know_, I was there,” Tommy said. Jon watched his left hand rise and fall as he gestured. “Fuck, Jon, if you have any ideas for Plan B, speak up.”

They just stared at each other.

“Stay married then,”Tommy said flatly.

“At least until the caucuses. Things will probably be so hectic after that, nobody will notice if we ‘break up’ in the middle of it all.”

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw twitched, but he just said, “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.”

“I’m absolutely sure,” Jon lied.

* * *

That night seemed to be a contest of who could fake sleep the best. Jon considered himself the winner after Tommy took a deep breath and relaxed, starting to snore just a little almost right away. Jon smiled into his pillow. Then he went back to worrying how this might play if it became some kind of special interest story, and smiles and sleep escaped him again.

He did finally fall asleep some time after 3:00, and jolted awake with the alarm at 6:00. He was hugging his side of the bed so closely he was in danger of falling off, and he turned to see Tommy sitting up from a nearly identical position. They looked at each other, and Jon became intensely aware of his morning breath.

“Morning,” Tommy finally said.

“Ugh,” Jon said in response, which got Tommy to crack a smile. “Also, you snore.”

“Sucks to be you,” Tommy said. “First shower?” That broke the ice, at least.

* * *

They managed the next day on coffee and their nearly nonexistent acting skills, but mid-afternoon the call came for the flight back to Chicago, and Jon got his shit together and followed the other staffers headed for the door. Tommy was standing in front of his cube, radiating nerves.

Jon walked up to him, trying to ignore that all eyes were on them, and put a hand on his arm. “Call you when I get back?”

Tommy nodded. After another second where it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, he leaned in and kissed Jon. Some part of Jon’s brain kicked in and he kissed Tommy back just long enough for the room to erupt in cheers and catcalls.

Jon took a step back and, in a voice he didn’t recognize, said, “See you soon.” Tommy murmured something back and then Jon was out the door and in a volunteer’s car with a bunch of people staring at him. He didn’t have any answers for them; he barely had them for himself. He smiled weakly and looked out the window all the way to the airport.

* * *

Jon got through the next week in Chicago on adrenaline and denial. Being a state over from Tommy let him pretend that the status was still quo. They still emailed as much as ever, and nothing about those emails had changed; Jon knew, because he spent a lot of time rereading their old emails to make sure he sounded normal in his new ones. 

He found himself playing with his wedding ring when he wasn’t actively using his left hand to write or type. He tended to spin it around his finger during meetings, or while he was thinking, or during commutes home on the El. He was sitting at his desk, spinning it and staring at an email from Tommy, when his phone rang.

“Hello, Jon Favreau,” he said. His email dinged with another incoming and he clicked up to it while the reporter introduced herself - a name which he immediately forgot because the email was from Tommy, subject line _EMERGENCY, DO NOT TALK TO ANY REPORTERS_. “Uh, sorry, I have a meeting with the Senator, could you call back?” he asked quickly.

“It’s just a quick question about your marriage to Iowa Press Secretary Thomas Vietor,” she said.

Oh, shit. “Yeah, sorry, I have to get to this meeting ASAP,” he said. “Thanks!” and all but threw the phone into the cradle.

After staring at the phone for a long couple of minutes, trying to remember how to breathe, he picked it back up and dialled Tommy’s extension in Des Moines. It was a weird feeling to dial it; he normally called daily but they hadn’t spoken since he got back.

“Tommy Vietor.”

“It’s me, what the fuck,” Jon said.

“Um,” Tommy said. “Dan says we need to talk to Gibbs.” There was a long pause. “And our parents.”

“Fucking shit,” Jon said.

* * *

Facing down a reporter, it turned out, was just a touch less scary than facing down his mother - at least via phone; Jon assumed it was a fucking _lot_ less scary than telling his mom in person would have been. He and Tommy sat awkwardly in uncomfortable chairs opposite the third-tier politics person from the _Des Moines Register_. Third-tier, according to Tommy, was apparently a good thing because it meant they weren’t too much of a story or too likely to have their facts checked. In the background, a photographer was taking a few pictures.

“Can you tell me a little bit about how you met?” Carrie asked. Jon let Tommy condense their friendship into a few well-rehearsed lines. Yes, they’d been staffers together. Yes, they were working in separate states on the campaign.

“That’s got to be hard,” Carrie said.

“Well, yeah,” Jon said without thinking. Both Carrie and Tommy turned to look at him. He shrugged. It did; not being able to walk over and see Tommy was the worst thing about moving to the campaign from the Senate office to Chicago and the states.

“And how did your relationship change?” she asked.

Despite himself, Jon felt his shoulders stiffening. He looked over at Tommy, who smiled - his Press Secretary smile, but still - and put his hand over Jon’s. “This is tough to talk about,” he said smoothly. “I’m sure you understand why we’ve kept it private until now.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m actually surprised that you chose to make such a politically, um, bold move during the caucus season.”

“The Senator supports us,” Jon said, his eyes on their joined hands.

“We’ve been on and off for the last year,” Tommy said over him. That was the best they’d been able to do given their own public dating habits. “But I think--”

“Excuse me.” Fucking Kevin, of all people, stuck his head in the door. “Jon, we’ve got a shi--” He saw Carrie and cut himself off. “Uh, I, there’s a question about the speech for tonight.”

“Oh, is the Senator available?” Carrie asked. “I would love to get a quick comment from him about this.”

“I’m afraid he’s not,” said Tommy, before Jon could verbalize his (horrified) thoughts on the matter. “Go ahead, Jon - I’ll finish up here.”

Jon made himself let go of Tommy’s hand and shake Carrie’s. As he followed Kevin out the door, he heard Carrie say, “So before we were interrupted…”

* * *

Jon got the link to the story the next day as part of the morning news dump. He clicked on it, cheeks already heating up at the thought that the rest of his coworkers - that the _Senator_ \- would be reading this too.

The title made him almost close the whole thing. _LOVE AND CONTROVERSY IN THE OBAMA CAMPAIGN_, it read. “Oh, God,” Jon muttered. He scanned it. Basic facts about the wedding (though not the marriage license backdating, thank God); a quick reminder about the history of same-sex marriage in Iowa since the Iowa Supreme Court decision in January of that year; a note about how the polling on Obama was doing since the news had gotten out, fuck fuck fuck; and finally, at the end, the “human interest” part or whatever, with the story about their relationship. He read the last few paragraphs, stopped, and read them again.

_”It’s not easy to be in the closet, but in politics it’s sometimes easier than the alternative,” says Vietor. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone but Jon. He’s too important to me.”_

_More important than the Senator’s campaign?_

_Vietor smiles but refuses to answer the question. “I’d either have my next president or my only husband upset with me: no thank you.” Time will tell if his first prediction will stand, but his second seems likely._

Jon got his hands on a paper copy of that day’s _Register_ and taped up the article, with its picture of them awkwardly holding hands, next to his desk in Chicago. It seemed like a, whatever, realistic thing to do, but he also found himself looking at it, and the end of it, more than he should, spinning his ring on his finger and trying to decipher Tommy’s words.

* * *

The caucuses crept closer. Jon tried to focus speech by speech and get less caught up in what would happen after them, unless he had a speech for outside the state to write. It was enough to focus on Iowa.

The next time he went back, it was for a candidate forum at Iowa State University. Afterwards, he was surprised to be hustled out into the night. “What are you up to now?” he asked - of course - fucking Kevin, who seemed to be in charge of said hustling.

Dan answered. “We didn’t get to throw you any wedding showers,” which made both Jon and Tommy look at him incredulously, “or more likely, any bachelor parties, so we’re throwing you a post-wedding blowout.”

“Please don’t,” Jon said with complete sincerity, but was of course shouted down. 

“At least just make it a _small_ blowout,” Tommy said. “I cannot show up for work hungover again, Jesus.”

Jon managed to avoid the tequila this time, and was just pleasantly happy on a few beers when he looked at the bar door and--

“What the fuck is a Clinton guy doing here?” he asked. The rest of the team joined in with various levels of complaint.

“Shut up!” fucking Kevin said. “That’s Jon Lovett. He’s a speechwriter for Clinton, and he’s gay.”

Everyone stared at him.

Lovett walked over to the table. “Hey,” he said to fucking Kevin. He turned to Jon and Tommy, sitting next to each other in their usual Close But Not Too Close arrangement. “Here I am, your token gay guy, here to give my gay blessing to your gay wedding.”

Everyone started protesting, but Jon couldn’t help laughing - and, Jon noticed out of the corner of his eye, Tommy was laughing too. Lovett grinned a little at the reaction. 

“Jon Lovett,” he said. “Enemy but also gayer than a maypole who prefers other maypoles.”

Jon laughed again. “Jon Favreau. Gay married to that one there. Well, bi married,” he said awkwardly. “Same-sex married. Married.”

“Tommy Vietor,” Tommy said. “What he said.”

“Good, good to clear that up,” Lovett said. “Are you going to kick me out before or after I get a drink?”

* * *

“So the thing is,” Jon said, stopping to take a long drink from his beer bottle, “the thing, the thing is.” He took a deep breath and another drink.

Lovett had one hand propped under his chin. “There’s a thing, and it exists. I’ve got that part,” he said. “Go on.”

Jon looked around at the other staffers and Tommy, who were all busy at the next table over. “Like, it’s one thing that we’re married, I guess,” he said, leaning closer to Lovett. “But the real thing is, he’s my _husband_, you know?”

“Not in the slightest,” Lovett said. “Continue.”

“I didn’t mean to have this many feelings during the campaign,” Jon said mournfully. “I’m going to ruin everything.”

“Have you looked at the polling?” Lovett asked, and Jon just stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out why Lovett would have polled Tommy. Then Lovett continued, “The whole marriage thing caused a bump, especially because Obama stood behind you guys, but it’s evened back out.”

“I know,” Jon said, “but--”

“Listen, I have a vested interest in your boss losing,” Lovett said gently. “But not over this. Anything but this.”

“Yeah,” Jon said finally. “I get that.”

A shadow fell over the table. “Everything good here? This guy’s not winning you over to his campaign or anything, is he?” Tommy asked.

“Like he’d leave you,” Lovett said. 

Tommy looked down at them, then leaned down and kissed Jon lightly. “He’d better not.”

* * *

Jon woke up to a thump the next morning. After a painful second, he realized it was the sound of his own body hitting the floor. “Ow, Jesus,” he groaned.

“Jon?” Tommy’s head poked over the edge of the bed.

“I fell out of bed, I think,” Jon said. “Goddamn, that hurt.”

Tommy was clearly trying not to laugh. “Oops.”

Jon flipped him off and staggered to his feet. “Just for that, I get the bathroom first.”

By the time Tommy got out of the shower, Jon was sitting on the bed poking at a sore spot on his side, mostly to avoid the sight of Tommy buttoning up his shirt. “Ow!”

“Probably it would hurt less if you left it alone,” Tommy said.

That was a metaphor for something, Jon was pretty sure. “This is going to turn into a great bruise just in time for my plane to leave tomorrow. As if flying doesn’t suck enough.”

“You big baby.” Tommy sat down next to Jon and pulled up his dress shirt and undershirt. “Where is it?”

“Right - ouch!” Tommy gentled his touch until his fingers were just brushing Jon’s side. Jon felt his whole body shiver. “Uh. Tommy. I.”

Tommy looked up and met Jon’s eyes. “Jon?”

For once in his life, Jon couldn’t think of a thing to say. Tommy leaned into him, just fractionally, and Jon lunged across the space separating them and kissed him.

It was awkward for a second until Tommy got a hand on Jon’s shoulder and lined them up appropriately. And then it was warm and wet and overwhelming. Jon clutched at Tommy’s leg and slid his other hand around the back of Tommy’s neck. Tommy got one hand under Jon’s shirt and Jon shivered all over again. He half-tackled Tommy until they were both down on the bed, fully dressed, hands and mouths roaming everywhere.

“Tommy,” Jon breathed into Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy groaned into Jon’s ear, which traveled straight down his spine. Jon ground down into Tommy, which led to more groaning--

Jon’s phone rang.

They froze.

“Fuck,” Jon said. Tommy laughed.

They peeled apart from each other and Jon reached for the phone. “Yeah? Hello?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you so early,” Dan said.

“No problem,” Jon said. He cleared his throat. Next to him, Tommy was trying to pull the wrinkles out of his shirt. “What’s up?”

* * *

It was the longest goddamn day of his life, and he counted Election Day 2004 in that number. Jon got through his day by focusing as intently as possible on everything in front of him, whether it was a communications meeting with Gibbs and Dan or arguing about baseball with the deluded White Sox fan who called himself a Presidential candidate.

By silent agreement, he and Tommy stayed as far away from each other as possible. The only exception was lunch, since they both ended up in the main bullpen at the same time and it would have looked odd for Jon to turn around and leave. He grabbed some pizza and sprawled out next to Tommy, who was talking shop with Denis. He set his free hand down next to Tommy’s and, surprisingly, Tommy reached out and took it.

Jon worked his way through three pieces of pizza and tried to ignore the warmth of Tommy’s hand in his. When Tommy started drawing his thumb slowly across the palm of Jon’s hand, Jon bolted the rest of his crust, jumped up from his seat, and said, “Back to work.” Everyone looked at him oddly; he smiled back. Then, daringly, he leaned down to give Tommy a pizza-flavored kiss and headed back to his desk.

Tommy was waiting for him after his last meeting that night, and it was like the night after their wedding all over again with the awkward silence. This time, though, they couldn’t stop sneaking looks at each other, even if it made the silence even more awkward somehow.

They got back to the apartment and waved hello to Lena, who was poring over a Chinese takeout menu in the kitchen. “Do you guys want anything?” she asked, waving it at them.

“Nah, just tired,” Tommy said. Jon blushed and ducked a little further behind him at Lena’s knowing look. “Night!”

“You know she didn’t buy that,” Jon said as he closed the bedroom door behind them.

Tommy grinned at him. “Jon, Lena thinks we’ve been ‘tired’ for a month now. We’ve only been sneaking around about not sneaking around.”

“I feel like there’s something wrong with that statement, but I’ve stopped caring, ask me later,” Jon said. He moved closer to Tommy, watching Tommy’s face change from a smirk into something warmer. “Can I--are we--”

Tommy reached up to play with the knot of Jon’s tie, and Jon grabbed Tommy’s face to pull him into a kiss.

It was like lightning, like a blow to the chest. Jon lost his breath as their tongues tangled. Tommy threaded his fingers through Jon’s belt loops and tugged him a step forward until their bodies were flush against each other. Jon’s hips hitched against Tommy’s without any control on Jon’s part, and they both sucked in a breath.

Tommy urged Jon back towards the bed, and Jon went, letting Tommy guide him all the way down. Once there, Jon was prepared for - well, fuck, he felt like he wasn't prepared for anything. But definitely not Tommy just kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him, slowly stripping him. Tie, dress shirt, undershirt, all vanished while Jon was caught up in Tommy, moving automatically when Tommy moved him, chasing his mouth whenever they parted.

Once his shirts were gone, Tommy kept kissing him but ran his hands compulsively over every inch of Jon’s exposed skin. He pinched a nipple and Jon whined into his mouth.

Tommy lifted his head and looked down at Jon. “Oh, really?” he asked, a delighted look.

Jon blushed.

Tommy dropped his head to Jon’s chest and bit down.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_,” Jon said and slid his hands into Tommy’s hair, holding his head in place.

Tommy kept up his attack on Jon’s nipples until Jon was rocking against him mindlessly, then broke away to get Jon’s pants and briefs off him. Jon managed to get it together enough to toe off his shoes but then Tommy leaned down and bit lightly at the inside of Jon’s thigh, and mostly Jon had to concentrate on not coming all over Tommy’s face with his pants around his knees.

Tommy dumped Jon’s clothes on the floor and Jon watched him strip off his own clothes while struggling to breathe and get a little bit of control left. Then Tommy crawled back on top of him and the control fled again.

“I’m - ah, God - shit, Tommy, this is gonna go really fast, I’m just telling you.”

“Good,” Tommy said, holding Jon’s eyes. “I want to watch you lose it.”

Jon reached for Tommy and they were kissing again, messy and hot. Tommy ground down against Jon and Jon tried to match his thrusts, planting one foot on the bed to give himself some leverage. In a remarkably short period of time, he went from gasping and grunting to “Tommy, I - Tommy--”

“Come on,” Tommy said, and Jon came, feeling it shudder through his whole body even as Tommy thrust down against him harder, faster, losing rhythm. He bent his head to kiss Jon again. “So good,” he said against Jon’s mouth, “you feel so good - fuck, _fuck_.”

He curled down into Jon as he came, and Jon wrapped his arms around him, his heart pounding from more than just the sex.

* * *

Jon woke up the next morning, turned to the middle of the bed, hand outstretched. Tommy, though, was curled up on the very edge just as he’d been before. Jon’s fingers just brushed Tommy’s shoulder blade.

Something that had flickered to life the night before under Tommy’s steady gaze did its best to die and Jon pulled his hand back into his chest with a sigh. 

He forced himself out of bed and into the shower; he was shaving when Tommy stuck his head in. 

“Breakfast at IHOP before work?”

“Well,” Jon said, “it’s no Dunkin, but I guess it’ll do.”

Tommy laughed and ran a hand down Jon’s bare back. Goosebumps jumped out on Jon’s arm.

“I was thinking,” Jon said, because that stupid feeling refused to just die, “do we have to stop doing this when we split up publicly? Like, maybe you don’t want to or whatever but last night was--”

“Amazing," Tommy said quietly.

“That,” Jon said. He was shaving beet-red cheeks at this point. He peeked at Tommy, who was staring at the floor, deep in thought.

“Let’s play it by ear,” Tommy said finally. “Might be hard to explain to a pick up at the bar.”

Jon had an immediate flash of Tommy, all grins and brains, picking someone up like he’d seen a dozen times, and discovered that he hated the idea. “Okay,” he said anyway, for lack of an alternative.

* * *

One night, awake and still sweaty, Jon thumbed through his phone to the contact marked JON LOVETT - DO NOT USE. He stared at it while Tommy snored, and then opened a text message before he could argue himself out of it. 

_I feel like, because of the campaign, we’re_ \- he backspaced - _I’m not really married. We’re supposed to be together but not too in people’s faces, and sometimes I don’t know when it’s okay to touch him_ \- he backspaced - _to show affection._

He regretted sending it almost immediately, but the response came while he was still beating himself up. _Do you always write novels in SMS at 1AM?_

Then: _I’m going to guess you weren’t up late writing speeches when this thought came to you. Please don’t confirm that._

_I plead the 5th_, Jon typed.

_As for PDA, welcome to the gay. Bi, in your case. Lotta people can’t be gushy in public._

_GUSHY_

_You just gotta know who you are behind closed doors._

_There’s the problem then._ Jon backspaced. _Gushy? Who made you a speech writer?_ And they were off and running.

* * *

The Senator finished the speech to roars from the audience. Jon stood backstage, his heart pounding in his chest, and took in the enthusiasm and the momentum of the moment. Over by the press pool, he saw Tommy, professional face on, but again a grin tugging the sides of his mouth.

They made it into the room, but not actually to the bed that night. Jon trapped Tommy up against the bedroom door and blew him with only the absolute minimum of clothing removed, messy and amateurish. Tommy kept up a steady stream of praise throughout the whole thing anyway, though, telling Jon how hot he was and how good he was making Tommy feel, and Jon worked his pants open with the hand not helping out on Tommy’s cock and jacked himself off to Tommy’s voice.

They tumbled into bed, slept for a few hours, then did it all over again.

* * *

_I’ve never had so many conflicting feelings at the same time._

_You know you’re in my phone as DEAD DOVE - DO NOT EAT, right?_

_Have you ever wanted someone so much you couldn’t stand it when they were just across the room from you?_

_I am learning so much about marriage from you._

_Don’t._

* * *

As the caucuses approached and Jon basically moved to Iowa, Tommy’s demeanor changed. He was just as enthusiastic at work, just as skillful with the press, but off the clock Jon couldn’t figure him out. He started going out after hours with anyone and everyone from the staff, and it didn’t seem to matter if Jon came or not. Jon started working even later and heading back to Tommy’s alone. But it wasn’t like before there, either.

One night, Jon woke up gradually at the sounds of movement around the room; his fuzzy brain finally placed Tommy, pulling off his shoes and the rest of his clothes. 

“Hey,” he managed, and settled back in to sleep.

“Hold that thought,” Tommy said, and pounced.

Jon barely had time to take in a breath before Tommy was on him, digging him out of the covers and kissing him, running his hands up and down Jon’s sides, burying his face in Jon’s neck.

“Tommy,” Jon said blearily, trying to wake up faster, “what--”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all night,” Tommy said into Jon’s collarbone. “It drove me crazy.”

“Then why were you there instead of here?” Jon asked, his voice raising on a whine at the end of the question as Tommy efficiently stripped him of his underwear.

“I forget,” Tommy said. “Can I fuck you? You’re so hot when I fuck you.”

Jon felt a slow burn start in his stomach. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He waited for Tommy to grab him and flip him, or to reach over him for the drawer with the lube, but instead Tommy just looked at him and looked at him. Jon reached out for him, but Tommy took his wrists and pressed them down into the bed.

“Nope,” he said.

“Well, then, _do something_,” Jon said, full of frustrated lust.

Tommy let go - Jon immediately grabbed the bar of the headboard - and kissed Jon again. He worked his way down Jon’s throat and chest. Jon groaned in the back of his throat when Tommy worried at one of his nipples with his teeth.

Tommy replaced his mouth with his hand, and Jon gripped the headboard harder to keep from grabbing at him. “I love when you make that noise,” Tommy said. “I love knowing I did this to you.”

“Please,” Jon said, all other words gone from his head. “Please, Tommy.”

Tommy went for the pillow, lube, and condom this time, and Jon made another noise when Tommy slid a finger into him. Tommy leaned up to reward him with a kiss, and Jon followed him up off the pillows as best he could.

“I’m not going to last,” Jon said when Tommy had three fingers in him, brushing his prostate with every thrust. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Tommy said, and ducked down to suck the head of Jon’s cock into his mouth.

Jon clutched at the headboard. “_Fuck_. Fuck me, Tommy, fuck me now, fuck me.”

There was the briefest of pauses, and then Tommy was pushing in. Jon saw sparks behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes. 

“God damn, Jon, you’re so hot, I can’t stand it,” Tommy said, his voice strained. Jon’s skin heated further; he arched up against Tommy.

“Come on, Jon,” Tommy was saying, one hand tight around Jon’s cock, “come on, you can do it, I want you to, come on--”

Jon stuttered out Tommy’s name and came so hard his whole body shook for a long time. His hands slipped from the headboard, but stayed above his head.

Tommy kept thrusting, not letting Jon catch his breath. He collapsed down on Jon and Jon brought his hands down to rub them over Tommy’s skin. “Whoa.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said into Jon’s neck.

“Are you okay?” Jon asked.

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Just...blown away.” He kissed Jon again, and Jon let the moment pass.

* * *

Jon would forever remember the night of the caucuses as awash with light - the stage lights, the camera flashes, the screens of phones and laptops. He found himself hugging everyone in reach, including staffers he’d barely ever talked to.

He finally made his way to Tommy, who grabbed him in a full-body hug. Jon buried his face in Tommy’s neck.

“We did it,” Tommy murmured.

“Fuck, yeah,” Jon said, lifting his head. He couldn’t help himself; he brushed his lips across Tommy’s just briefly. To his surprise, Tommy held his head in place and kissed him again. It was only for a moment, but Jon’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. 

They pulled back, grinning at each other…

* * *

... which was of course the photo that the Register ran, on an inside page at least, as part of their election coverage.

Jon and Tommy stood in the middle of the half-cleaned-out campaign office and stared at each other over it.

“This is going to make things a lot harder,” Tommy said.

Jon was glad for years of training in politics. He put on what he hoped was an appropriate face. “Yeah, what are we gonna do?”

“Uh, hi.”

Jon’s head snapped up. Jon Lovett was staring at the two of them from the other side of the mostly deconstructed phone banking table.

“Lovett?” Tommy sounded completely thrown off, which made sense if you hadn’t been texting this guy all your romantic feelings about your fake husband for months. Jon felt suddenly sick to his stomach.

“Hey,” Lovett said to Tommy, then to Jon, “I just came to tell you I’m deleting you out of my phone.”

“You’re in his phone?” Tommy asked Jon.

“You couldn’t just text me to tell me that?” Jon asked Lovett.

“He’s in _your_ phone?”

“Hopefully not for long, that’s my point, keep up,” Lovett said impatiently. “You might look like he bought you at an estate sale--” Tommy choked. “--but Favreau wouldn’t get all dreamy about you if you weren’t hot shit, so I know you must be smarter than that.”

“Than what? Estate sale? _Dreamy_?”

While Tommy spluttered and Jon waited for a convenient lightning strike or black hole to put him out of his misery, Lovett waved his phone at Jon. “Come on,” he said, then more quietly, “you might not, but I’d get fired if - can you just delete me?”

“Yeah,” Jon said distantly, “of course.” It bothered him more than he wanted to admit to delete JON LOVETT - DO NOT USE from his phone. “Done.”

“Thanks,” Lovett said. He hesitated and then said to Tommy, “Listen, he’s good people, and he thinks you hung the moon, so try and be, you know, a reasonably decent husband to the man, all right? Good. Good talk.”

The room felt deathly quiet when he’d left, even though there were objectively just as many people moving things and talking on cell phones and having loud conversations about press coverage. Jon avoided looking at Tommy, who avoided looking at Jon.

Jon ran a hand over his neck. 

“They want me to go to Chicago,” Tommy said suddenly. “I was going to, but there’s probably a slot in South Carolina or wherever. We can split after everyone, including people from _other campaigns, Jesus_, stops thinking we're, you know--”

“Um,” Jon said. “I am dreamy about you though? Is the thing?”

Tommy stared at Jon. “Excuse me?”

Jon made himself meet Tommy’s eyes. With the feeling of someone yanking the other shoe down rather than waiting for it to drop, he said, “If you want us to split up, we can stay in Chicago and just be excruciatingly awkward, you shouldn’t fuck up your job. And if you, you don’t want us to split up, we can stay in Chicago and be--”

“Our normal levels of awkward,” Tommy said.

Jon felt Tommy take his hand cautiously and, yes, a bit awkwardly, and grinned. “We gotta be us.”

Tommy reeled Jon in for a kiss. Around them, the chaos went on unabated; it was just Jon and Tommy kissing, after all. What was strange about that?


End file.
